Soul Tales
by mossdeep
Summary: Their days were filled with spirit and nights with regret. Non-connected ficlets containing Silver/Lyra.
1. Chapter 1

_Hellu, I realized I had a lot of SoulSilver drabbles piled up, and seeing as how inactive I was, well why not post them here? This whole little bunch of drabbles is practically dedicated to StellaMuffins, since the only time I ever write these two is for her. ;u;_

**_I do not own the Pokémon franchise._**

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><p>NewBark Town was a quaint place with kind people who had hearts of gold. There was not a day that would pass without one helping another in some way—without one smiling to the other as a friendly gesture. It became hard for anyone to become 'angry' or 'irritated' by its atmosphere. However, for a certain someone, it occurred quite easy for him, but that was another time.<p>

For now, the situation focused on the young, chocolate pigtails of the town. She was the chivalrous, yet oh-so energetic darling that everyone had known—she had become, how it would be said, everyone's little miss sunshine. And they all had began to laugh as she was of 'that' age; why, shouldn't the wondrous, chocolate beauty be the hostess for the charity kissing booth?! NewBark's lovely, annual fair should also have its lovely sunshine!

"Heh, it's your lucky chance, Silvy Wilvy," the Rocket executive mocked, nudging the teenage boy with his elbow.

"What the hell are you blabbering?" The redhead spit, scratching the side of his neck. His grey eyes flickered up at the sky, it had now become a mix between orange and purple—the sun slowly coming down.

"I mean—" the green haired creep continued, "this is your chance to finally get a smooch from a _real_ gal!"

"I don't care about girls, they're annoying as fuck."

The smirk on Proton's face vanished, he rolled his eyes in irritation at the boy. "Kid, it's a fuckin' buck a kiss, go have fun."

He threw the teen a dollar and strolled off, "I'll be back in an hour to pick you up, meet me in this same exact spot," he called, yawning. "Acreus knows your father would raise hell if he lost his successor."

The Rocket executive slowly disappeared from the redhead's sight, while nighttime easily crept its way onto the sky. Silver glanced down at the dollar bill in his hands, he honestly thought why the hell not? Well, he began to regret his decision with every step of the way, realizing what if this girl was absolutely nasty and hideous. It was shallow, but that was the way it was—if he was being forced into this kind of thing, the damned girl better be gorgeous.

He slowly stepped up in line, running a hand through his hair. His eyes wore a dead expression, clearly not interested in the least. However, when he finally managed to arrive at the stall, he could not help but feel surprised. Although he quickly recovered from that, knowing that of course she would be pretty; but not just pretty, she was sweet and her voice coaxed his ears like honey.

"Well hi! The name's Lyra," she smiled. "You here for a kiss?"

"What else would I be here for?" Silver simply growled, shoving the dollar onto the table.

The young girl softly laughed at his annoyance, "Someone obviously isn't very enthusiastic."

Lyra steadily reached for his collar, pulling him closer. She closed her hazel eyes and her lips gently placed a kiss to his own. It was not a very long kiss—but it wasn't short either. When they pulled apart, the young brunette blushed, realizing his lips were likely the best she had felt all day; Silver, on the other hand, walked away without saying another word, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

He strolled back to the meeting point, where Proton waited patiently. "Well kiddo? Let me guess, you wasted the buck on something other than a kiss, psh."

"Actually, can I have another fucking dollar?" He said, putting his hand out.


	2. Chapter 2

_Leaves on trees change—except for evergreen trees, if a tree is not evergreen it is deciduous and will shed its leaves when autumn arrives. _

The young brunette read carefully through the cream pages, her legs and shoulders quivering from the frigid wind. She swallowed, every blink her eyes burned; college wore her down, and having to make the young adult read something one would in elementary made her annoyed. Everyone knew this about trees, she was sure.

Her pastel lips frowned; she reached for her phone in the corner of her pocket, pulling it out her fingertips tapped the screen—the phone made a "ding" sound, indicating the message was sent.

_'You know the difference between evergreen trees and deciduous trees, right?' _Her eyes slowly scanned the text she sent. However, before she had known it—her cherry colored electronic buzzed on the wooden bench. _He_ always seemed to reply terribly fast. She slid her finger across the glass screen to read his new words, words that made her giggle into her sleeve.

_'Yeah. Who doesn't?' _

The brunette smiled, her head steadily nodded to the new message; she was certain he agreed with her and she loved it when he did. She rose her thumbs to reply.

_'Apparently the college thinks nineteen year-olds don't...' _She had typed the text with a clever smirk upon her lips, a finger about to hit _send._ Despite doing so, her phone vibrated again with another message.

_'Turn around though.'_

Each syllable read in her mind made her heart pound and cheeks heat. Her long, chocolate pigtails followed behind her turning mind. Her eyes widened with "the dumbest" grin following in suit the redhead later would quote.

"It's been so long," she said, standing up and stepping towards him without looking. Neither of the two had seen each other since she left to board the school, nor had they made plans to meet. "I missed you."

The red-haired boy put a hand to her cheek, his fingers were cold but warmed up quickly against her hot face. "Halfwit," he responded softly.


	3. Chapter 3

The wind rushed across their noses of red, it bit them, their noses, as if it carried a frost nipping at them in its gust. One of them, a young women of only her twenties, had disheveled, milk chocolate hair which reached, at most, below her shoulders. Her shoulders, they were half-covered in a worn, lavender shawl; and at its ends her dry hands clutched. The young woman's heart thumped with speed while her outer demeanor stayed quiet and high strung.

Today, she had awoken to her greatest fear; and it was a fear not only to herself, but a fear not yet known to the young child beside her. All the brunette could do was watch heavy clumps of snow join the white wasteland with chills flickering goosebumps across her skin. Her eyes unfocused to reminisce the years of bliss which had led up to this unforgivable moment.

A year of laughter; where _his_ red hair was always messy in the morning, and his cheeks were always warm. His hands were rough, but his touch was tender, and the way he looked at _their_ child with such fondness. Her first words were his name, along with a giggle that an infant would present. Little Suzie together with her father was nothing more than a gift to the mother, a wonderful, spectacular gift.

There happened to be more years of smiles, hugs, gifts, and heartfelt gazes. Years would pass by as if they were nothing, as if time never existed, and their love never ceased. If anything were to transpire, it would solely be their coming to love another more. Promises of honeyed reverie made throughout the weeks; and good-natured teasing from silver tongues.

Today, however, she had woken up to a shattered looking-glass, and behind the looking-glass appeared to be all the lies of his charm and cordial dreams. The young woman had not dared to touch such a sharp blade, for the fear of it cutting her down caged her. Her numb lips could not move; and she would not be freed of such a cage for a long time, since she was about to sin. And it shall be a heavy sin to rot her insides.

Her young child, of only four, gripped the woman's skirt. The mother knew the words about to pour from the child's mouth ever so carelessly; and so she braced herself, not to break, not to cry, in front of her own daughter.

"Where's daddy?"

The brunette has to turn to her child, she has to turn with a straight face. A straight face which cannot crack, one that can say he will return home soon. She cannot say the truth, she cannot say he—her father is—

_Gone. _


End file.
